


To the Victor

by sturms_sun_shattered



Series: Teba/Harth Oneshots [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Competition, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Angst, Minor Character(s), Sort Of, gentle pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26130916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sturms_sun_shattered/pseuds/sturms_sun_shattered
Summary: Harth fears his confession was not well received.  He hopes an afternoon at the Flight Range can clarify things.
Relationships: Harth/Teba (Legend of Zelda)
Series: Teba/Harth Oneshots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931161
Comments: 20
Kudos: 42





	To the Victor

**Author's Note:**

> I'm branching out...sort of...
> 
> Thank you unavoidablekoishi, acacias, and gaygarbagebaby (all of them talented, go read their fics next!)

Harth knew he probably shouldn’t have said anything, but by the time they had cleared the bokoblins from the ruins he had felt invincible with the adrenaline from the fight. Teba’s expression had been feral, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath and wiped the slime of bokoblin viscera from his blade. They were both still new to the rush of battle, having fledged as warriors only a moon’s turn prior. In that rush of victory, it had taken all of Harth’s willpower not to catch Teba by his leather armour and beg him to accompany him back to his roost. Somehow, what had slipped from his beak had been far worse.

When they arrived at the Flight Range to practise with the other warriors the next day, Teba avoided speaking to Harth and Harth was nearly grateful for it. He was ashamed to have exposed such a personal sentiment with such carelessness, but Harth knew what it was to live his life in regret. The only difference was that now he no longer regretted what he had been avoiding. That troublesome tangle of lust and affection aside, Teba was his best—his _only_ —friend. 

By the time practise had ended for the day, the sun was low in the unusually clear Hebra sky. As the rest of the warriors shouldered their bows and flew out for the day, Harth plucked up his courage, grit his beak and caught Teba by his wing. Teba’s eyes flashed briefly with anger and Harth withdrew, fearing his boldness had lost him the small sweetness that he had coveted in secret.

“I don’t think I got enough practise in,” Harth attempted. “Stay and spot me?”

Teba glanced at the departing warriors, his brow furrowed in such a way that Harth could not tell if he was angry or simply his usual grim self.

“Fine,” Teba acquiesced.

Teba may have been terse and moody, but he was a Rito of his word. As Harth leapt out into the updraft and circled the stone pillar, he glanced back at the Flight Range lodge. He had expected to see Teba watching from the landing, bathed in the warm light of the late afternoon. Instead, Harth started to find that Teba was nearly upon him, his falcon bow clutched in his talons.

“This is what you wanted isn’t it?” Teba shouted over the wind. “A bit of competition?”

Before Harth even had the time to unsling his bow, Teba had sighted his targets, nocked an arrow, and dropped into his stance. As he fell, he took out each target down the back side of the pillar and caught himself just above the icy water of the basin below. When Teba had climbed back to Harth’s altitude, he fixed Harth with a self-satisfied look, the wind rustling endearingly through the wild feathers of his crest.

“Why did you do that?” Harth demanded. “You knew I was going for those.”

“Perhaps instead of complaining, you show me you can do better.”

Annoyed, Harth flapped up above the highest ledges, tossed his bow into the air, and caught it in his talons so he could sight the targets along the outside rock wall of the basin. He breathed in, trying to ignore the feel of Teba’s eyes upon him as he began his descent. The wind whipped against Harth’s feathers as he fell, nocking and loosing arrows and hearing them hit their targets without looking back. His last shot glanced off of the rock face. He cursed as he caught himself so close to the water that he could feel the cold spray of it whipped up in the wind.

He met Teba half-way up the Flight Range, his friend’s smug expression both galling and reassuring after Harth had been so certain that Teba would never speak to him again. In spite of his disappointing performance, Harth could not help but feel the warmth that spread through his chest at Teba’s competitive glance.

“You missed your last target.”

“I did.”

“Keep your elbow up,” said Teba as he beat his wings in the updraft and began to repeat the exercise. 

Teba took out his own targets, and then the one that Harth had missed for good measure. As Harth watched him, he grew incensed at Teba’s nerve. That same arrogant expression remained as Teba swooped back up to his level.

“There’s no need to show off,” said Harth.

“Try to keep up,” Teba goaded him.

Harth began once more, trying to ignore the hot irritation that built in his chest as he breathed in the cold mountain air. The golden rays of the quickly setting sun seemed to sparkle off of Teba’s plumage and Harth had to remind himself to focus—if Teba wished to compete, then Harth would do his damnedest not to let him win.

Harth unslung his bow once more and sighted his remaining targets. Teba—the fiend—had made sure to leave those most challenging few near the lowest point of the range. As Harth fell, bow in hand, he vowed not to let Teba have this one without a fight. The sound of his arrow against the last target filled Harth with such an undue sense of pride that he didn’t quite catch himself in time.

The icy water was up to his neck before he had even spread his wings. Cursing his arrogance, Harth pulled himself onto the rocks just as Teba landed. That Teba had not had to rescue him was a small mercy, indeed.

“You hurt?” Teba asked as Harth stripped off his cuirass and tried to shake the water from the sodden leather.

“My pride’s not great,” Harth said self-effacingly as he dumped the water from his quiver.

“Well you got them all anyway.”

Harth shivered and tried to shake the beads of water from his wings before they froze. It was hardly a comfort to have managed his targets when he had ended his round so gracelessly. As usual, Teba was the victor, though he was somewhat less smug than usual. Teba’s courtesy in the face of Harth’s inexpert landing chafed him more than any boasting ever could.

“I lost my arrows,” Harth lamented, staring out at the leaden water.

“Forget them. Let’s go warm up,” suggested Teba as he took the water-logged quiver and cuirass in his talons and pushed off into the updraft.

Harth followed, the wind biting to his skin where the water had not been repelled by his feathers. When he set down on the landing, he begrudgingly accepted the rough woven blanket that Teba had taken from one of the hammocks and sat down by the cooking pot. Miserable from his dip in the water, Harth pulled the blanket around his shoulders and watched as Teba carefully set his cuirass, quiver, and bow sling near the fire.

“Harth.”

Goddess, how the sound of Teba saying his name brought that wretched ache back to his insides. In the heat of competition, Harth had nearly forgotten what had transpired the night before. At least on the range Harth could focus on something else, but sitting here—having twice made a fool of himself between two sunsets—Harth could barely keep himself from abandoning his damp clothes where Teba had left them to dry and taking flight.

“What I said to you last night—” Harth started in a hurry, strangely light-headed.

“I imagine that was quite humiliating for you,” said Teba easily, “given how you took off before I was even certain what you had said.”

It had to be the fire setting Harth aflame—his skin had grown unbearably warm beneath his feathers, yet his insides had turned to ice. But Teba’s gaze held neither anger nor contempt. Harth had surely thought that his artless confession would have driven Teba from his life forever, but here he remained.

“Had I stayed,” attempted Harth, his heart thumping suffocatingly in his throat, “then...what might you have said?”

Harth could barely breathe as Teba shifted around the fire to his side. Harth had ceded all of his power with those careless words, and Teba seemed to relish in his victory. As in archery, Teba always seemed to win.

“On the field of battle? When our blood was up?”

Goddess, Teba was teasing him, Harth realized. Harth stood, ready to bolt to the landing when Teba grasped his wing and pulled him back down beside the fire.

“I understand if you want to put it in the past, or avoid me, but you needn’t make fun of me while I’m here,” Harth rambled. 

“I’m not,” said Teba as he wrapped his wing around the back of Harth’s neck.

“Today...you seemed so angry.”

“Harth, are you even aware of what you said?”

One word in particular seemed to stand out to Harth, but with Teba’s wing around him, drawing him near, he could hardly seem to recall where he was let alone what other inelegant declarations he had made. 

“You confessed your affections, immediately took it back in regret, and flew off to hide in your roost before I had even realized what happened.”

At the time it had felt as though it taken much longer, and the silence had stretched on between them until Harth had been sure that his youthful folly would cost him everything. But now, Teba was so very close to him, and Harth still was not entirely certain where they stood.

“I don’t take it back,” Harth whispered, their beaks nearly touching.

“Good.”

Harth let Teba close the tiny space between them and shut his eyes as Teba’s beak brushed against his. As Teba pressed their foreheads together, Harth could barely contain the smile that spread stupidly across his face at the disbelief that this was unfolding. Teba wrapped Harth in his wings and pulled him closer as Harth reached out to hold Teba’s face in his hands, drawing his beak across Teba’s in return, barely able to suppress his small laugh of relief.

“So,” said Teba, nudging the curve of his beak to Harth’s, “would you like another attempt at your confession?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for stepping aboard the skiff
> 
> Comments and kudos are welcomed and appreciated :)


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